


The Nebula

by CoffeeFairy



Series: The Non Sequitur Saga [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Episode: s02e05 Non Sequitur, M/M, Meet-Cute, Prequel, because you all seem to agree with me it's apt, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeFairy/pseuds/CoffeeFairy
Summary: Starfleet Academy Cadet Harry Kim is convinced to celebrate his birthday by sneaking into a twenty-one and over bar, pretending to be an Ensign. After all, nobody cards an officer. Things look up when trouble arrives in the shape of Lieutenant Tom Paris. Prequel to my Non Sequitur take.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Series: The Non Sequitur Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725229
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist writing it out. The meet cute story from my Non Sequitur take. If you haven't read it, it's basically what would have happened if Harry hadn't met Libby. I hope you'll enjoy!

Harry still couldn’t believe this had actually worked. He looked around uncertainly.

The inside of the Nebula bar was less impressive than he’d thought it would be. It looked like an ordinary Federation space bar as far as his limited experience could tell. There were bottles and replicators behind the bar, a few low and high tables, a small dance floor squeezed into the back, some pool tables. That was it. From what Danny had made it out to be, Harry wasn’t really impressed.

His friend, shorter than him by a few inches, and with a permanently sunny disposition, bounced on the balls of his feet next to him. Leaning close, he whispered,

“Isn’t this fantastic?”

“It’s...certainly a bar.”

“Oh come on, Harry, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s 21 and over, and mostly Fleeter officers come here. Your future can be  _ made  _ at the Nebula. The friends you make here stay with you for the rest of your life.” Danny sounded like he was directly quoting one of their more pretentious upperclassmen. 

“I hope not,” Harry hissed. “They’d realize we’re not meant to be here.”

Danny shrugged. “In a few months we will be.”

“Do you mean in almost a year we will be?”

“Details!” Danny gestured like he was brushing the details away, whisking them into the air. “For tonight, just enjoy that we’re here! The uniforms and the pips worked. Didn’t I tell you they would? Nobody cards an officer.” He winked.

Harry couldn’t help being infected by his friend’s enthusiasm, so he smiled. 

“Yeah, you told me.”

An hour later, Harry was starting to wonder what they were doing there again. Danny had found a young Bajoran Ensign and was attempting to wow her with his extraordinary feats in what sounded like an impossibly long Starfleet career for his age. Harry had left them to it and was standing at the bar. He was in no hurry ordering, waiting for the four-armed bartender to reach his end of the bar, happy just watching the crowd milling. 

The door whooshed open to admit a man on his own. He was tall, with blond hair and long limbs. Spotting him, Harry felt a pleasant warmth wash through him, a vague thudding picking up in his chest. Handsome, he noted, in a classical way, with a long, lean body filling out a red command uniform. He couldn’t see the pips from the distance but he looked confident, posture straight and movements easy. The man glanced around the room and quickly, and before he could spot him, Harry looked down and away. 

It looked like the man saw some people he knew and headed deeper into the bar to greet them. For a moment Harry wished that the easy wave and smile had been for him, that his steps would carry him his way. Which was ridiculous, he reminded himself, he’d only just spotted him. He could be a complete jerk, or incredibly dull. There could be a million different reasons why Harry wouldn’t want to talk to him.

Unable to keep himself from stealing another glance, Harry could now see the man’s eyes were a bright arresting blue. He was smiling at something his friend was saying, head tilted down slightly to catch it, while he scanned the bar. 

If he looked like anything, Harry thought, it was Trouble with a capital T. The way that Harry had always looked like he sat at the front of the class and kept spare pencils handy, this man looked like he’d bring you trouble - and you’d like it. Harry had never liked trouble..

Distracted by the man, Harry didn’t notice the Ferengi sidling up to him. 

“Good evening, Ensign,” the small alien greeted him. 

Not even the novelty of being called Ensign made Harry very inclined to start a conversation. He didn’t quite know how but in the space of five minutes, the Ferengi had made him feel guilty, awkward and rude and then he’d found himself offering to buy some of the Lobi rocks he was selling. 

“I saw rocks just like these at the dime store down the street,” a smooth voice interrupted their exchange. Harry looked up and blinked in surprise, dropping the small rock he was holding. It was the man he’d admired since he’d entered. 

  
“That’s impossible, a discerning eye can clearly see that-”

“A discerning eye can see you’re clearly conducting business other than having a drink, meaning the owner wouldn’t be pleased if he found out.”

The alien looked affronted but closed his case and moved off, muttering about hew-mons. 

Looking up, Harry saw the man smiling and waving to the Ferengi’s back. Up close the officer was impossibly even better looking and Harry tried to get his tongue to form words. He looked almost like he was shining from within in Harry’s eyes, the kind of confidence he had never had himself resting easy on his shoulders, like armor. The eyes that had been simply blue from far away were deeper up close, an artist’s sea of grays and blues. 

“You okay, there?” The man looked back to him, his eyes kind and humorous.

“Ah...Yes. Thank you.” His voice sounded higher than normal and he cleared it.

“Any time.” He leaned against the bar, looking at him. “I’m Tom Paris.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” The man kept looking at him and Harry could feel colour stain his cheeks. Tom Paris leaned closer. “Your name, Ensign?” He asked, his tone amused.

“Oh,” Harry’s blush deepened. Did he have to keep looking like such an idiot in front of this man? “I’m Harry.”

“Whereabouts are you posted, Harry?” Tom asked as he gestured to the barman. The bartender, who’d completely ignored Harry hovering, nodded in recognition. 

“Nowhere. Yet.”

“Ah. Freshly minted from the Academy?”

Harry, always unwilling to lie, made a noncommittal shrug Tom apparently interpreted as a yes.

“Those were the days.” 

“You make it sound like it was an eon ago.” The man was clearly not that much older than him, maybe five years at most. 

  
“Sometimes it feels like it.” The bartender came over and Tom asked for a bourbon, neat, then looked to Harry. “Want something?” 

He didn’t really, he had a test in the morning, but he couldn’t believe this man was talking to him, much less offering him a drink. Maybe if he accepted he’d stay a little longer. So he asked for the same. 

Accepting the drink with a thanks, he sipped. The liquid burned in his throat but he managed to suppress a cough. Tom looked like he was diplomatically hiding a smile at his reaction. 

“Where do you want to get posted, then?”

That he at least knew with certainty, so he replied promptly. “On a science ship. What…” he summoned his courage. “What do you do?”

“I’m a pilot. I’m just back from the Cambridge and they want me to do some precision flying showcase or something before going back out.”

“Showcase?”

“Yeah, fancy name for showing off Federation spacecraft to potential buyers.” Tom grinned and knocked back some bourbon. “I’m happy as long as I get a ship to steer.”

“You must be a really good pilot. If they’re doing that, I mean.”

Tom shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

Harry watched his throat work as he swallowed the drink, the delicate skin there, the rise of his Adam’s apple, and then quickly looked away, the replicated uniform suddenly feeling too tight at the collar. 

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


Tom Paris had not had a particularly good month. He had been held back from shipping back out with The Cambridge for weeks now to show off a new class of starships. While he knew he was a good pilot, he also knew his name played part in his assignment. It looked good on paper to have the son of Admiral Paris show off the Federation Fleet. It signified stability, continuity, tradition. Things that his father cared about. 

But being grounded got under his skin, he wanted to be in space. He hadn’t joined Starfleet to wear out a desk chair or run figure eights around the Sol system.

Then, to add insult to injury, while he was stuck on Earth, his parents expected him to put in appearances in the family home. It reminded Tom very much of how desperate he’d been to leave there when he enrolled in the Academy. So tonight he had fielded his mother’s attempt to contact him, then headed to Richard Malley’s office. His friend had helped him feel a bit less bored, through swapping stories of their Academy days and by passing a bottle of bourbon Tom had brought between them. 

When Richard had stated he still had a report to finish, Tom had headed out, just a few sips shy of sober to see if any of his friends were at the Nebula.

And from there, he had to admit, the evening had begun to look up. 

He’d found his friends, but when he’d gone to get a drink, he’d spotted a young man at the bar. A Ferengi was showing him something and though he couldn’t see his face, he read unease in the man’s posture. Getting closer, he heard the Ferengi laying it on thick. The guy at the bar had to be green to let himself so close to getting hustled.

Interrupting them, the man turned and Tom felt his pulse trip a little before it caught up again. 

As he’d guessed the man was young. Ensign pips winked at his collar and his comm badge shone like it had been given to him that day. The gold uniform fit over wide shoulders and narrow hips. His hair was loosely combed back, black and shining, in a cut that would wing on either side of his forehead if he hadn’t styled it so neatly. His eyes were a golden brown and at the minute they were watching him with apprehension.

Used to the tug of attraction and enjoying the thrill of it rather than getting flustered, Tom summoned a smile. 

“You okay there?”

Since greeting him, Tom had found out the Ensign’s name was Harry, he was a recent graduate and he wanted to sign on to a science ship. He liked to spend time in holo novels in black and white and enjoyed winter sports. Used to playing the game, Tom could tell the younger man was attracted to him and was struggling to hide it. 

Tom enjoyed the Ensign’s eyes on him for another moment before he looked back. The young man immediately dropped his gaze and looked away. It was cute how embarrassed he got getting caught staring. Usually Tom had no time for fumbling approaches or awkward propositions but he really liked how the younger man’s cheeks colored every time he got caught looking, but still couldn’t help doing it. It was ego bolstering and not at all unpleasant. 

Idly, Tom wondered if the Ensign had never been picked up in a bar before because it sure didn’t look like it. To his surprise, this thought chased heat down his spine and tightened his abdominals. Maybe no one had ever paid this kind of attention to the guy? Intrigued now, he leaned forward over the bar on the pretense he couldn’t hear what the younger man was saying. Harry tensed a little but stayed put, his breath playing over Tom’s ear and neck when he spoke. 

He smelled of laundry powder and shampoo. No after shave or frills there. Compared to the other smells in the bar, it was headily pleasant. 

Relenting to his instinct, as he normally did, Tom moved around the side of the bar to join Harry at the short end, relinquishing his corner space to an Andorian. Standing next to him, their arms pressed together, and Tom noted Harry didn’t move away. Interesting, again. So he turned, leaning sideways on the bar so he could face the younger man. They weren’t more than a few inches apart. Harry’s eyes shot up to meet his and then fell helplessly to his lips before he caught himself. The way he’d looked up, all innocent and wondering, the hesitant way he’d been unable to stop himself to sneak a glance did things to Tom he hadn’t thought possible from a look. Suddenly incredibly invested in what had started out as a teasing game, he brushed some imaginary lint from Harry’s shoulder. 

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” the Ensign blurted, sounding like he’d said the first thing that popped into his head. 

“No, I’m an only child.” Which was a pity because if he’d had a sibling, maybe some of the...attention from his father could have been shared between them. Not that he’d wish that on anybody.

“How about you?”

“Oh, I have two sisters. They’re older than I am.”

Paris had already guessed it, but asked anyway. “So you’re the baby of the family?”

Harry’s face clouded over a little. “Yeah. As they all keep reminding me.”

Touchy subject. 

“Well, you look all grown up to me, Ensign.” He hadn’t intentionally meant for his tone to get quite so flirty. 

Harry looked up sharply when he heard it. His eyebrows knitted a little, and that delectable blush flashed again. He looked confused, like he couldn’t quite believe he was there. All Tom could wonder was what sort of blind people were at the Academy nowadays who’d let someone like Harry walk away unused to this game. In his day he’d have singled him out at orientation. 

“Ah...thank you?”

He hadn’t imagined it could be this much fun playing the game with someone who didn't know the rules. Harry clearly had never been picked up in a bar before but he didn’t seem to be against the idea, just unsure about how it happened. Tom was more than happy to show him the ropes.

He eased away a little to allow the other man to get used to the idea. After all, they had all night. Steering the conversation to general waters, he sipped his drink and enjoyed the Ensign’s quick, darted glances. 

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


Harry wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. Tom Paris had after striking up conversation, stayed by his side, talking and joking like he didn’t have a group of friends across the room to join. For some reason he was staying next to Harry, smiling in that way that narrowed his blue eyes charmingly.

He felt a little like he’d stumbled into a dream, something his sleeping brain would allow him a glimpse of but that could never be reality. That this extremely attractive, funny, confident man was happy to spend time with Harry Kim was just too far fetched to be true. He knew he was a bore to a lot of people, preoccupied with rules, regulations, eager to learn. His compliments on his looks ranged from handsome to cute, and he was well aware he was more than a little inexperienced. And yet, Tom Paris hadn’t left his side all evening, had ordered him a drink and kept the conversation going. If he minded that Harry was unable to keep his eyes off him, he was polite enough not to say.

He knew he was doing it again and yet he couldn’t seem to stop. Not when he kept noticing more and more features that fascinated him. How that soft hair curled slightly over his collar, or where the soft skin met fabric above the lieutenant’s pips. How his shoulders, strong and wide, filled out his uniform perfectly before his torso narrowed into a lean waist and hips with long, graceful legs to carry him. His long-fingered hands were wrapped easily around the tumbler in his hand, elegant and sensitive, like they could perform the most minute tasks gently. 

Pilot, Harry reminded himself. Pilots needed to have dexterous hands. Harry remembered the man at the Academy who had taught them to fly. His hands had moved over the conn like he was playing the piano, sometimes quick as bird’s wings, sometimes slow and languid. If Tom Paris was being asked to showcase Starfleet ships, he had to be able to do the same. Harry wondered briefly how he’d look behind the conn, blue eyes focussed and posture sure and confident.

His face called to Harry’s eyes, the smooth forehead, the straight nose, the high cheekbones. It all made Harry’s hands itch for his sketchpad. It was a face that would look right as a marble bust. The artist in him longed to explore it, figure out why its curves and angles made it appealing. His eyes, the blue he’d been able to make out from across the room was even brighter up close. They were so different from his own deep brown ones. His lips seemed permanently etched into a half-smile and the soft lips tugged so easily into a grin looked endlessly appealing. A vague shadow of blond stubble grazed his jaw, highlighting the structure. It brought images of young eighteenth century Earth nobles to his mind, names like Byron and Shelley, romantic moors and high adventure. Added together it made Harry’s heart race, as it had since he first spotted him. 

Mostly because he still miraculously had the pilot’s attention, he accepted another drink.

Tom was talking about some mission he had been on, but Harry heard few of the words. The cadence of his voice, the rising and falling melody as the story spun out, entranced him. The way his hands moved in sweeping gestures, how the moods of it flashed over his face, it all kept him spellbound. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who could capture his attention so fully while still not being able to hear more than a few words of what he said. His brain was much too occupied with revelling in wonder over each new facet emerging. 

He recognized it for what it was, an instant, full-blown, lightning strike crush, but that didn’t make it any easier to deny the impact. 

Harry was a sensible person. Practical, steady. And yet, he’d taken one look at Tom Paris and knew he’d fallen head over heels. Logically, he knew it wasn’t real, wasn’t born from common ground and trust, but from attraction. But at the minute it was very hard to separate the two. He kept trying to remind himself, and kept slipping, like climbing an icy hill. Every time he thought he had a foothold, Tom smiled, or looked at him, or touched him oh-so-casually and he slipped right back into a heated, wanting confusion. He could feel his body almost reaching for the other man, like the cells of his being recognized Tom before he did and wanted to melt into his being. 

Flashes of exactly what his body wanted to do snapped through his brain, shorting and fizzling in the forefront of his mind before they disappeared. Bursts of images painted on the insides of his eyelids. Tom’s hands, long fingers wrapped in Harry’s hair. That cocky half smile, covered by Harry’s lips. The delicate skin of his neck stretching over taut tendons when he arched under Harry’s hands, running down the column of his chest. Blue eyes hazy with want hovering above Harry, the rest of the room in darkness. 

Shaking his head to clear it, he felt the colour on his cheeks burn. He’d never been so grateful humans couldn’t read minds like Betazoids.

“Sorry, I got carried away. Talking about flying sometimes makes me forget I’ve been going on and on.”

Tom’s story had stopped, Harry realized and with a thud like a sack of wet sand hitting the ground, his stomach lurched. How long had he been staring this time?

“No, it’s fine. I...It’s good to hear people talking about passion.” He could smack himself in the face. Scrambling, he tried to salvage the sense in it.”About things they’re passionate about, I mean!”

Tom’s half smile widened and Harry wanted to find a hole and sink into it, never to be heard from again.

The pilot cocked his head and his voice dropped lower in register, purring like a cat’s. “Yeah? And what are you...passionate about, Harry?”

The voice did something to him. Like fireworks lit all at once they set his nerve endings firing and exploding, a confused cacophony of sound and light sparking in his body. Electrified from head to toe and if Tom as much as nudged him, he’d combust. 

_ He’s joking with you, he isn’t flirting _ , he told himself sternly. Gulping down some of the whiskey to help clear his throat, Harry could only hope his voice wouldn’t escape as just a breathy squeak.

“Ah...art. I like art, and music. Expanding our understanding of the universe, finding answers to questions we didn’t know we had. And...I’m pretty passionate about the Dolphin’s chances in the IGL.”

For some reason his response made Tom grin widely, like Harry had missed a joke but that somehow made it funnier.

“Intergalactic baseball, huh?” The pilot sipped his drink. “Well, I feel bad for you, I do. To be passionate about the Dolphin’s chances is to live for disappointment. Clearly the Betazoids have it in the bag this year.”

Harry sputtered on his drink. “You can’t be serious? The Zoids?”

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


Tom watched as Harry launched into an in depth explanation of why the Dolphins would dominate the IGL that year. The earnest lecturing was the least predictable response he’d ever had to flat out flirting. 

He could tell the Ensign was interested, his dark eyes lingered and his body moved almost like it was Tom’s shadow, mirroring his movements. A blush would come and go on his cheeks and his fingers kept tightening around his glass. It was textbook. But from there it got interesting. Something was holding him back, like a sheet of glass between them. The younger man was controlled, careful, and still he didn’t seem to be able to help with quick glances, replaced by long stares when he thought Tom wouldn’t notice. Was it just inexperience? Or something else? It made Tom want to prod and poke and see the reaction. Would Harry keep pretending he couldn’t feel the current between them, invisible but as obvious as the hum of a warp engine? Or would he give in, and let it take form?

His mind gleefully supplied him with a play by play of what it might look like if Harry let himself go. In a way he hadn’t even considered in years he evaluated the closest hidden nook where he could allow his hands to show the Ensign exactly what getting picked up in a bar could do for you. He hadn’t used a setting more creative than his apartment or his quarters in years but the need that had started as an engine hum in his veins was revving up into a roar in his head. The mix of willing and yet somehow innocent was turning his interesting pastime into a need like he hadn’t felt it in years. It had something of a teenage desperation to it, reminded him of times when he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but the object of his desire for weeks on end. He’d thought himself too old for infatuation but Harry was making it painfully clear those had no age limit. 

Harry continued to explain the finer points about the Dolphins but Tom was more occupied by how his full lips rounded around the words, stretched in a slow smile like the sun rising on his face. The hands gesturing, often forgetting he was holding a glass and making the liquid swirl dangerously close to the edge. The straightbacked posture like he was about to be roll called rather than standing in a crowded bar. The hair that was brushed so neatly, shining and slicked back. Tom wanted to push his hands into it and tug, watch as it fell tousled and free around his face. Watch it dampen and stick to his forehead, his neck as Tom let his lips slip ever lower until-

“And that’s why The Zoids will never beat the Dolphins!” Harry finished triumphantly and Tom was pulled from his decidedly inappropriate thoughts. He immediately missed them. 

“You’re dreaming. The Zoids can and  _ do _ read each other’s thoughts. Their play is unbeatable.”

“The Dolphins have Ishiro Nakamura.”

“Ishiro Nakamura is one person. The Zoids have a telepathic pitcher and batter dynamic.”

Every protest seemed to fuel Harry’s will to explain it. Tom was pleased to see some of the veneer crack and fall away. Less wooden and stiff, more of the real man coming through. He wondered if he’d picked up the officer persona from some of the more pretentious Fleeter trainers at the Academy. 

Now he shook his head in protest and some strands loosened and fell across his forehead. Absentmindedly he ran his fingers through his hair to settle it again and mesmerized Tom watched the fingers comb through the silky tendrils. A desperate urge to replicate the movement himself informed him his earlier thought had taken root. Immediately one of the strands fell loose again. Tom gulped too large a sip from his drink to busy his hands, then gestured to the barman for another. His nerve endings seemed without the blissful cover of skin around this man, left bare and reacting on instinct to his every move. The more time that passed, the less in control Tom felt of the game he had started. If he wasn’t careful the young Ensign was going to end up with the upper hand. And the sad part was that he probably wouldn’t even know it. 

“...so Nakamura can and will carry the team.” 

Tom realized he had missed most of the pertinent information to formulate a response. Luckily the bartender put another drink in front of them and saved him from having to reply immediately. 

Harry looked down in surprise, staring at the drink.

“You…” He cleared his throat, something on the floor to the right pulling his gaze to it. “You want to stay for another drink...with...with me?”

Tom wondered if the Ensign was actually taken and that was why he was being so reticent. That would really mess with his plans for the night. Sipping, he narrowed his eyes over the rim of the glass.

“Why? You got somewhere better to be, Ensign?”

“N-no!” 

Tom blinked in the face of the vehemence. The Ensign backtracked, picking up the fresh glass. Cleared his throat.

“No, I...I just thought you might want to join your friends?” He nodded in the direction over Tom’s shoulder.

Tom had completely forgotten he knew some of the people in the back, had told them he’d get a drink and return. Right this minute he couldn’t remember any of their names or any reason why he’d want to leave Harry to go talk to them. 

He shrugged. “Nah, they’ll manage without me.” He turned to face the bar again, casting Harry a sideways glance. “What about you? No friends to join? A significant other to get back to maybe?”

Harry hesitated and Tom pretended he wasn’t boring a hole into the bar on the other side with his gaze. Of course this was why the Ensign wasn’t responding in kind. He had someone at home. Why wouldn’t he? He was hot, and smart and he spelled out Boyfriend Material in the way that Tom’s entire being signalled One Night of Carefree Fun.

“No, no one,” Harry mumbled into his glass.

A wild urge to ask if he’d like a someone to get back to whipped through him and he frowned. Had he lost count of his drinks somewhere along the line? Staring accusingly at his glass, he squashed the urge. 

“I just...I have an early start tomorrow. I really should…” He put the glass down, the dull scraping of the heavy glass against the chrome bar reminding Tom viscerally of his own reaction to the words. Uncomfortable and scraping heavily. 

“Right.” He turned back so he was facing Harry again. “I guess it can’t be helped, Ensign.”

Harry slid off the bar stool, for a second ending up so close Tom could feel the heat of his body through his clothes. 

When you asked as often as Tom did, you were used to hearing “no”. It wasn’t something he minded, some people were in relationships, some didn’t feel like it, some weren’t attracted to him. A no to his mind meant you shrugged and took it like a man. Then you picked someone else. Yet this time, despite having talked about nothing but inconsequalities, he felt like someone had weighed and measured his soul and found it wanting. 

With a mock salute, he winked. “I’ll see you around, Harry.”

The other man bit his lip, looked down, nodded. Tom knew from experience not a single line of his body or look on his face betrayed anything but an easy, familiar, friendly smile. Inside he was burning up. The wish to reach out, to make Harry stay, was overpowering. He’d even keep himself from kissing him if it meant he’d stay, tell him again and again why the Dolphins would win the IGL, or why doing dilithium fracturing equations in the middle of the night was soothing. 

“See you around, Tom.”

Then he slipped away, the heat of his body and the sound of his voice only impressions on Tom’s sensory memories. With a grimace Harry wouldn’t be able to spot even if he turned around, Tom downed his drink. Trying to tell himself the night was young and that the bar was full of people who wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of heading back to his for some reason seemed a poor comfort. If anything he felt more like heading home himself, get some sleep before he had to once more put a little shuttle through its paces around the moons of Jupiter tomorrow. 

A touch to his shoulder made him turn and he blinked when he found Harry standing behind him.

“It’s not that late and I...I should really finish the drink.”

The Ensign fidgeted for a moment, staring at the floor and Tom found himself at an unusual loss for words. 

“And I thought that...that…” His head tipped back instead of staring at the floor and his brow was furrowed in concentration. “That maybe…” His fingers were knotted in front of him. “That you wanted…” With a short sigh of frustration the fingers sprang apart and his hands found Tom’s uniform. Tugging, he pulled him the short distance down to his level and kissed him. 

Tom’s brain tried to keep pace and failed, repeatedly, his brain misfiring like a 20th century engine attempting to start, over and over. Eyes wide, he stared at Harry when he pulled back. Emotions flickered across his face like waves on a sea, from consternation, to surprise, slowly melding into horror.

“I...sorry. I’m sorry. I thought...I thought you wanted…”

Finally his brain seemed to catch up. In the moment once more, an overpowering joy punched through his chest. 

He was back. He was here. 

“Oh, I do.”

Tom pulled on Harry’s gold uniform, bringing him close. Kissing him again, he wound his hands into Harry’s hair like he’d imagined. It was as soft as he’d thought it’d be. Murmuring against the Ensign’s lips, he reiterated as it was apparently in doubt, 

“I really do.”

Harry’s breath hitched and his grip on Tom’s shoulder tightened. The sound lit something in him on fire. Blazing through his veins it razed anything in its way that wasn’t desire. Pulling Harry even closer, dragging him to his feet so every inch of him pressed against his body he heard the seams of the uniform strain. 

Harry, who he’d somehow expected would be timid, shy, kissed him back with fervour. His tongue swept past Tom’s lips taking his mouth for his. His hands roved from Tom’s shoulders, wound around his neck, answering the need for closer, ever closer. When his hands responded in kind, moving into Tom’s hair and tugging, the sensation travelled to the soles of his feet. His nerves lit up and sizzled, sparking everywhere Harry touched. The storm in his mind was gathering, gaining momentum. Primal, elemental, Tom could only let it sweep him where it wanted. To Harry. 

o.O.o

Harry had never been an impulsive person. He’d never enjoyed the feeling of throwing caution in the wind or doing something purely for the thrill of not knowing what came next. He liked to consider his choices, mull over his thoughts. And yet tonight, none of his life up until now seemed to matter. He’d known it, though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, the second he’d spotted Tom Paris. He wanted him.

Sleeping with strangers wasn’t Harry’s game. There were people who were interested, certainly, but to Harry it had just never held any appeal unless he knew the person, at least a little bit. The key part of attraction usually started with something he found out about them, not what they looked like. But tonight he had taken one look at the pilot and felt it in a heartbeat.

Though he still couldn’t believe that knowledge had led him here. Pressed up against the wall of The Nebula bar, Tom Paris’ lips moving against his, his hands roving maddeningly over his body.

He’d almost been able to convince himself he could do without this. He’d left, been halfway to the door, congratulating himself on his escape. Tom would never find out he wasn’t really an Ensign, would never know Harry had lied. Harry would never have to face him and know he’d misread his signals, that this wonder of a man hadn’t really been flirting with him as he’d dared to believe for a moment. It was better this way.

Halfway to the door the question had rammed him unexpectedly. 

Would you regret it? If you left now, would you regret it? 

To Harry’s surprise, he realized he would. Despite knowing it was the right thing to do, that it would save him lying any longer, that it would leave his self-image intact, he knew he’d return to his quarters that night with sleep eluding him. He’d return to find Danny wax poetic about the bar, talking in the dark next in the bunk on the other side of the room until he fell asleep, his regular breaths all that could be heard. And Harry would lie there, staring up at the ceiling, every facet of Tom’s being hovering above him in the night. Every cell in his body would be pulling towards him still, as if he were on the other side of the door and not across town in a bar Harry had no business being in in the first place. His resolve had snapped at only imagining how he’d feel if he didn’t take the chance.

He’d turned on his heel and returned. Put his hand on Tom’s shoulder, watched him turn towards him. Blue eyes clouded over had sought his. Consternation had furrowed his brow, his lips forming his name in a question.

Harry had tried to force the words out, make them string into a sentence, convey all that he wanted. But like a broken pearl necklace the words had tumbled, rolled and skittered away over floor, only disjointed sounds left to string into a semblance of language. So he’d tossed the last of his self-preservation in the wind and just grabbed Tom and pulled him close for a kiss. 

The other man had barely stopped kissing him since and Harry couldn’t complain. Not when he was trapped between the wall in the darkened corner furthest in the bar and Tom’s lean body. Holding on to him for balance he could only  _ feel  _ as the pilot’s hand ran up his back, wandered down his chest, trailed his waist. Kissing him like it was more important than breathing, he seemed to know exactly how to make Harry squirm. Pushing a leg between Harry’s, angling his hip he pressed closer, rubbing against Harry’s obvious approval. Rolling his hips, his lips ventured to Harry’s jaw, travelled down his neck to nip just over where his fake pip was fastened to his collar. Arching off the wall, the pounding deepened to a constant ache. His breath caught and he snapped his head back, shivering. Holding on to Tom so he wouldn’t just fall, his gaze tripped into bright blue. Tom was staring at him, wide eyed, lips parted. Then he slowly rolled his hips again.

Without his lips to swallow the sound a deep moan tore out of him, his back arching again as his hands clutched at the pilot’s uniform.

Tom’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he leaned in again. His voice sounded like it was getting pushed past gravel to escape.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Blue gaze searching his eyes, Harry felt like his soul was under a searchlight. And under it he couldn’t find any reticence. There wasn’t a molecule of his body that didn’t want to go, anywhere, with him in that moment. 

“Yes,” his voice was breathy and he didn’t care.

Tom tugged him by the hand and Harry stumbled after him as he strode out the door.

Outside he hailed one of the automated transit shuttles and Harry shivered in anticipation of the exclusion, its tinted windows impenetrable in the dark.

“Yours or mine?”

Harry almost laughed and caught himself before stating he couldn’t very well bring someone to his shared room at the Academy. As an Ensign he would have his own quarters.

“Yours.” The word echoed in his mind, as if the short syllable had sealed his fate somehow.

Tom nodded and pulled him into the shuttle, rattling off an address to the navigational computer.

o.O.o

When Harry woke, several hours later, he glanced at the clock. It was showing 11:59. Tom Paris was breathing quietly next to him, splayed out over the bed like…well, like he owned it. Which he did. In the way of cities, pale night light fell in through the angled windows above the bed, highlighting the clean features. His hair glinted with it, like antique gold, and under his eyelids his eyes were moving. On the nightstand the clock ticked over to 12:00 and Harry smiled to himself. It really had been the best birthday ever.

If you want to check out the story that inspired this, it's the orginally titled[ Non Sequitur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723208).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it was meant to be a one-shot, it was. Clearly that plan has changed. As I am still kinda in love with this universe I may add some more if I think of something more I want to see.

Tom wasn’t looking for the Ensign. He was just checking who was there. Some guys from Exobiology were in the back, and someone from Hydroponics Research was at the bar. But nowhere did he see a golden uniform and head of black hair, wide shoulders and deep brown eyes. Considering it had been three weeks since they met and he hadn’t seen him since, he could have shipped out by now. There had been moments when he’d been tempted to ask the computer to display the records of all newly graduated officers with the first name Harry. He was stopped every time, his pride stretching and hissing in the back of his mind. Not to mention it was a breach of privacy. Harry hadn’t given him his contact details, in all likelihood because he didn’t want Tom to contact him. To find the details would be against his wishes. Besides, he’d probably get a call from Personnel asking why he was going through younger officers’ records. 

Sighing, Tom approached the bar and prepared to listen to the Hydroponics guy drone on about chemical fertilizer strands. 

Dillon, who happened to be extremely attractive but as dull as he was pretty was more than happy to go on in his nasally voice about growth rates and successful grafting patterns. Tom just sipped his bourbon and avoided staring at the short end of the bar where he’d spent the hours with Harry three weeks ago. 

He’d woken up the next morning, Harry already showered and zipping up his uniform. Every inch had been back to the polished young Ensign, not the man Tom had watched fall apart under him the night before. Hair brushed back, shoes polished, not a wrinkle on his uniform despite the fact that Tom knew it had laid in a heap by his front door all night.

Steeling himself for starting the “last night was fun but I don’t do boyfriends” conversation, Harry looked up from his zipper and noticed he was awake. 

“Morning,” Tom greeted him, little but a corner of his duvet covering him. 

“Good morning,” Harry mumbled as his cheeks reddened. 

It was almost a pity he’d have to turn him down, but in the long run it was kinder to do it now. 

“I...I need to get going.”

“Okay,” Tom sat up in bed. 

“I’ll see you around. Bye.”

_ See you around? _ It was laughable, the kid had taken the words out of his mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah, see you around.” 

Then the Ensign turned on his heel and all but ran out of the apartment. Confusion and amusement came first. Smiling to himself he fell back against the mattress. Rolling over, intent on catching some more sleep before the alarm went off, the scent of Harry met him. A warm tenderness was almost immediately overpowered by the towering arousal in its wake. Images of the night before slid into his mind. Harry’s breaths hitching, soft hands running over his body, sleek hair between his fingers. 

With a groan, Tom let his hand slip low. When he tipped over the edge, it was Harry’s face at the forefront of his mind, the way his back had arched off the bed, the way his name had sounded from his lips, reverent, wondering. 

It was a dream he didn’t like to admit how often he had. It had been three weeks and so far anyone else he’d brought home had provided a flashlight where Harry had lit up a city. 

Tom grimaced and swallowed some more bourbon. So what, they’d had great sex. Some people were more compatible and they had been, that was all. He could easily find someone else to fill the gap. The fact that Harry had even left a gap to be filled annoyed him. Needled. 

Turning back to face the boring Hydroponics guy he noticed he wasn’t even there anymore. Lost to his thoughts, he’d probably been huffed at before the guy left. He willed himself to feel some disappointment at the development. He was in no way relieved he wasn’t bringing anyone home.

o.O.o

Harry had never before struggled to concentrate. It had been one of his best qualities, the ability to focus, shut out everything else except the problem in front of him. It had allowed him to sail through simulation tests where his classmates panicked. It had enabled him to take exams, one problem at a time without stressing about the next question. It had maxed out his aptitude tests for Operations the way he could maintain that sole focus.

And now, it was gone. 

For three weeks, whenever he wasn’t guarding himself against it, he was haunted by images of Tom Paris. How he’d looked, how he’d smelled, how he’d smiled. His voice, his hands, his hair. He’d be sitting in class, taking notes in his personal shorthand type and suddenly Tom would be there. Walking in through the doors, smiling, tilting his head the way he’d done at the bar when something amused him. Or worse, his breath in Harry’s ear, the warmth of it fanning across his neck, his voice a whisper, lips teasing the shell of his ear - and then Danny would elbow him and send him a look, or the teacher would ask what was so fascinating about the air above his shoulder. In sleep he had no way to protect himself, the dreams haunting him and several times he’d been woken by a pillow to his face, and Danny’s sleepy “Cut it out, Harry” from across the room. He’d lose track of what he was doing, wondering if Tom was back out with The Cambridge, if the showcase had gone well. He’d stopped himself several times from checking his status in the Starfleet records. Not only was it unethical but it bordered on outright spying. Tom hadn’t given him his comm link, or asked to see him again.  _ Which you can’t _ , his brain reminded him.  _ Because you’re not an Ensign like he thinks _ . 

Sighing, he pushed the PADD away and rubbed his face. None of the astrometrics theory was sticking anyway, his eyes just following the lines of text without picking them up. He’d had boyfriends before, he’d been in love, in lust, had crushes and been infatuated. But never before had he been so solely focused on another person. Because he barely knew anything about him, what he did know was playing on repeat in his mind like an ancient record on repeat. His thoughts returned to him, again and again, and nothing he did seemed to make it stop. 

Resolving to go to the Academy gym to try and work himself focussed, he picked up his bag.   


o.O.o

Tom jogged up the entrance stairs to the Academy. He’d declined someone to show him the way, he remembered well enough where classroom 5C was. Advanced Flight Sims 1 through 5 ran in there. All officers were required to pass 1 to 3, with 4 and 5 being reserved for future conn personnel. Tom had spent a lot of time in it. And one of the people who had sat next to him through it was Jeremy. The red hair, the freckles, the wide smile, all spelled country boy to Tom and he’d been prepared to dislike him on sight. But Jeremy hadn’t really been someone you could dislike, and when Tom had been snippy initially he’d simply ignored it. They’d made fast if unlikely friends. And now his friend taught the course they’d taken together. It turned out Jeremy didn’t like the feeling of space, despite his love of flying, so now he preferred to teach others how to fly. 

Smiling to himself as he passed through the entrance hall and took a left, he winked at some of the cadets giving him the eye. He loved this place. It had been the first time he’d been away from his father. His name had still loomed large but at least he wasn’t  _ there _ . 

Grimacing slightly, as he always did, he passed under the archway spelling “The Eugene Paris Command Training Center”. Not named for his father, but for his grandfather, it had always made him supremely uncomfortable. That name meant every single one of his classmates had been watching him, envying him. His teachers expected more from him, his passable test scores deemed “disappointing”. The white stone arch weighed heavy on the shoulders of the Paris line. “ _ It is your legacy, Thomas, never forget it. Protect it, preserve it and bear it with honour _ .”

When he was little he hadn’t known what a legacy was and had been too afraid to ask, so he imagined it was something like a glowing mantle, a cloak he wore that was invisible yet set him apart. As he grew older he’d realized it was indeed a mantle. A heavy, stifling, golden mantle that dragged him down, drowned him, slowed him. And others could see it. When he was introduced, the spark of recognition, the slight straightening in posture. He hated it. He wanted to be a nobody, preferably the first in his family to join Starfleet. He’d used to daydream about it, his simple, uncomplicated, loving family who were so proud he’d even enrolled. 

Shaking his head to clear it, leaving the arch behind he heard someone call his name.

Turning, he found a familiar face. A woman, short enough to pass under his outstretched arm, with brown hair pulled back from her face and a ramrod posture, she gave out an air of command even at rest. 

“Sabrina,” he smiled. “What are you doing here? Tired of the Jules Verne already?” His friend had graduated top of the class and immediately been offered a place in a prestigious fast track officer training programme aboard the Starfleet flag ship. 

“Never,” she smiled. “I’ve been invited to give a talk to the firsties, inspire them, tell them to work hard, etc.” Her small hands moved quickly as she talked. Before she’d enrolled in Starfleet Academy she’d been a ballerina, but an injury had ended her career before it could fully form. “What are you doing here? Still resitting that Astrometrics exam?”

“Ha ha.” He had sat that exam about four times, but it had mainly been because he found Astrometrics to be so mindblowingly boring. “No, Jeremy has the flu, I’m filling in for him on Flight Sims.”

She arched a brow. “You are?”

“What? I’m the best pilot in Starfleet.”

“You are,” she nodded, “but you also have the worst attitude. I’m surprised anyone at this school agreed to have you back on the grounds for even a minute.”

“Ah, maybe they’re so old they’ve forgotten they don’t like me.”

She crossed her arms. “Or, Jeremy is doing his friend a favor from his sick bed.”

“A favor? Teaching snotty nosed cadets to veer right is hardly a grand favour.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes at him. “Tom, you’re a fantastic pilot, you have pass aptitude grades in more classes than I do and you know more about flying than anyone I know. Do you think they’re keeping you on a slow hauler like The Cambridge because they have considered you the best candidate for that job? Jonah Miller could pilot the Cammie.”

Jonah Miller was one of their classmates who had been truly atrocious at flying, only scraping through Flight Sims 3 by the seat of his pants after three resits. 

He frowned. He knew The Cammie wasn’t the most glamorous position, and he highly suspected his father had something to do with the post on a decidedly dull ship on a set route, but at least it was in space. Away from Earth. 

“Bree, I’m the black sheep. This is what they do to black sheep.”

“Well, I don’t like it.” She crossed her arms and her gray eyes darkened. “And once I’m Captain, I’m telling you, there is no one else who gets to pilot my ship.”

Warmth blossomed in Tom’s chest. Sabrina West was an unlikely friend, top student and golden poster child of Starfleet as she was, but she was fiercely loyal once you had her friendship.

“Easy there, Lieutenant. You’re a ways off Captain.”

“You know me. I’m like a terrier when it comes to my goals.” Her PADD buzzed and she looked down. “Oh, I’m running late. Can’t have that. How about a drink tonight before I ship out again? I bet this is the time I beat you at pool.”

“You’re on,” he tilted his head and smiled. “Captain.”

“ _ You _ can’t say it, you’ll jinx it,” she laughed. “See you later!”

“Later, nerd.”

Shaking her head at the nickname, she headed down the corridor. Tom turned back to where he was heading and realized he was running late too. As opposed to Sabrina this didn’t hurry his steps. 

o.O.o

Harry glanced at the clock in the corner of the PADD. Lieutenant Simms was late. He was never late. Sitting in the second row where he could easily see the conn, the view screen and the monitor that showed a close up of the conn officer’s hands, he glanced to Danny. The other boy shrugged. 

The room was large, built like an amphitheater in levels, with the circular display at the front. To the left of the conn - today an Intrepid class one - was the chunky little test shuttle they used for practice. It wobbled and shook in accordance to what happened on the viewscreen. Harry preferred it to the Holo exercises where everything was just a little too perfect. Too much computer interference, adjustments and suggestion. The Bonebreaker, as the students called it, didn’t allow for mistakes.

The other students were starting to move in their seats, like all students throughout time, wondering if class was cancelled. 

Then the door opened and the students turned as one. Harry felt his heart drop. 

It couldn’t be. 

Coming down the stairs at an easy pace was Tom Paris. 

Harry’s throat squeezed shut, his gasp of surprise barely a wheeze. Cold sweat broke out over his back, his palms. In his chest, his heart pounded, knocking against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. 

He looked every bit as good as Harry’s memory had made him out to. The blonde hair, the easy smile, the confidence. Steering for the console in the middle, he turned. Cocked his head, grinned. His eyes travelled over the students and Harry sank deeper into his seat.

It didn’t help.

Tom Paris’ eyes passed him. Stopped on Danny. Turned back to Harry, wide. Their eyes locked. Harry held his breath. Tom stared straight at him for what seemed like minutes but what could only have been seconds. Then his hands flinched, eyes tightened, jaw clenched.

“Cadets,” he greeted them tersely. The word was like a slap and Harry wondered if he should just stand up and run. 

Harry had no idea what the lesson was about. He was much too preoccupied with watching Tom. His hands flying over the controls, the cadence of his voice as he confidently explained his movements. The flash of a smile as he pulled off a ninety degree incline straight up. The way his uniform stretched over his back when he turned the console. Danny elbowed him in the side a few times, looking quizzical but Harry just shook his head and returned to his staring. 

Before he quite knew how, the class was over. Pretending to pack up his things for longer than it took, he waved Danny ahead. The second the doors closed after the last student, Tom Paris spoke.

“Computer, lock the access to this room.”   
  
The system beeped. “All access to this room locked.”

“Stop lecture recording, security footage and audio input for the computer. I will manually turn the audio input on again when I need it.”

“Authorization required.”

“Authorized, code eight, four, lambda, pi, six, Paris.”

“All audio and visual input from this room will now be blocked. Manual restart will be required.”

A last beep resounded and Harry hunched his shoulders. Biting his lip he slipped from the row and descended the stairs. Tom stood straight backed and pale in the middle. The usual easy half-smile was nowhere to be seen. His hands were behind his back but when Harry stepped forward he threw them out.

“ _ What the hell _ , Harry? Is that even your name?”

Harry nodded. 

“What were you thinking pulling that on me? I could be sacked for this! Do you know how long I’ve worked for this? And you, you could be kicked out!”

Harry knotted his fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to…” He tried to meet Tom’s eyes. “To go so far.”

“What were you even doing in The Nebula?”

“It...It was my birthday. My friend convinced me it’d be fun to borrow some uniforms, and replicate some pips. Nobody cards an officer, he said.”

Tom blanched. “How...How old are you?”

“I’m legal! I’m twenty.”

“Jesus.” Tom slumped against the desk. He rubbed his hands over his face, let them stay there. Sighed. Finally he dropped them and looked up at the ceiling. A moment later a smile started tugging at his lips. “It sounds like something I’d pull during my Academy days. Can’t believe I didn’t think of it. And,” he sent Harry a sideways glance. “I can’t believe I fell for a borrowed uniform and some replicated pips.”

“We replicated them off campus for credits. They shouldn’t be able to trace them back, not that they’d ever check.”

“Hmm, and whose credits were they?”

“They were D- my friend’s.”

“And there is a record of that I assume?”

Harry paled. “Well. Well, there’s really no need for anyone to check.”

The pilot sighed. “Let’s hope so. Really, Harry, what were you thinking?”

Harry shifted his weight. “I wasn’t. It’s just...my last year starts soon and Danny has been going on and on about memories that we make and the best years of our lives and I...I just wanted to  _ do _ something for once. Something that wasn’t expected. I didn’t mean to drag you into it, I just…”

He forced his eyes from the floor, up the long legs, the narrow waist, the crossed arms over a wide chest, to reach a blue gaze. “I couldn’t help it. You’re…” he gestured to Tom.

A blonde eyebrow rose in amusement. “You’re pretty…” Tom replicated the gesturing, “yourself, Harry.”

Weeks of waiting, dreaming, yearning came to a head inside him and with a thud he dropped his book bag, stepped close and kissed the pilot. A muffled sound of surprise from Tom was quickly swallowed. Gentle but firm hands on his shoulders pushed him back. 

Dejected, Harry complied, taking a step back. 

“Harry…”

“It’s okay, I get if you don’t want me anymore.”

“Don’t…” Tom’s voice was weak. “Don’t want you? You…Harry, look where we are. I’m an officer, I’m seven years older than you, meant to be your teacher right now. It’s not just against regulations it’s…”

“I don’t care.” It came out petulant. Frustrated, Harry dropped his arms. “For once in my life, I don’t care what the rules say. I’ve…” He scraped deep for the courage. “I’ve never felt like this, about anyone. I want you, Tom, it doesn’t matter where, or how, or when. I haven’t been able to sleep, can’t study, I just think about you.”

Tom’s breath rushed out of him, eyes wide. “You know, if I were a stronger man, a better man, I’d leave now.” The pilot pushed off the console he’d been leaning against. “I’m neither,” he mumbled and with his heart thundering in his chest, Harry watched him lean closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

Then his lips were on Harry’s and everything turned a blinding, shining white. His nerves, tense to breaking since the day he’d left Tom’s apartment, relaxed. Pieces he hadn’t known were broken slid back into place, jagged edges smoothing. A heat took their place, seething and smoldering in the pit of his stomach. Winding through him like flames spreading it set his blood boiling, his mind roiling with the force of it. 

Tom tilted his head, his hands slipping into Harry’s hair, taking hold, tugging. With a gasp, Harry complied to the unvoiced question, leaning back.

“God, I’ve missed that sound,” he spoke against Harry’s neck, his lips brushing the skin above the mandarin collar. A shiver ran down his spine, propagating through his nervous system like an earthquake, the ground heaving under his feet. Deft fingers undid the collar then Tom’s lips were on the sensitive skin at the bottom of his neck, sucking a mark into the skin. The sensations crashed into each other, broke, shattered and fell in shimmering shrouds.

With a groan Tom turned them, walking Harry backwards. Backed against the console the pilot left the spot on his neck to bend slightly, easily hoisting him up to sit on the control panel. Tom easily stepped in between his knees and brought them core to core. Heat singed like an arrow from his groin, blooming under his skin. Graceful hands ran from his legs, up his thighs, around his hips, then dipping lower, angling him, pushing higher. Heat against heat made Harry’s breaths stutter, back arching. Helplessly his hands clenched around Tom’s shoulders, wrinkling his uniform. 

Tom’s hands found the zipper of his uniform, hurried, fumbling. A second later he opened it by simply tugging, wrestling it over Harry’s shoulders. Desperate to get rid of the sweaty fabric, Harry wriggled out of the sleeves and then a moment later he was blinded when Tom tore the undershirt over his head. It landed somewhere in a heap and he couldn’t care less. The second his hands were free again he wrapped his arms around Tom’s neck.

“How...How can I want you this much?” Tom’s voice was muffled against his skin, his breath hot on Harry’s shoulder. The words raced through his mind, cut inches off the already burning fuse, the inevitable explosion rushing closer. 

“Tom... _ please… _ ” He only half knew what he was pleading for. His mind couldn’t form a sentence coherent enough but he hoped the older man would pick up the meaning.

He felt as much as heard the groan from Tom. Then the pilot captured his lips again, the kiss searing itself into his skin. With a last roll of his hips against Harry’s canting hips he sank to his knees, a mixture of rapture and mischief in his gaze. Harry’s eyes both wanted to roll back in his head and never look away. Then Tom’s mouth formed a burning seal around him and the world faded.

o.O.o

“Harry, listen...I…” Tom ran a hand through his hair. It was damp at the neck, sticking to him. He’d done the opposite of this speech more times than he could count, but this one stuck in his throat, nerves locking them in place.

“Do you want to have dinner?” Harry looked like he’d blurted it out before he could second guess himself. “With me?” His cheeks pinked. “Sometime?” The last word was almost a whisper.

Tom didn’t know how a man seven year his junior was so much braver but he could only thank his lucky stars he was. Pulling him close by the recently picked up uniform jacket yet to be zipped back up he kissed him with all the reasons yes he could summon.

Harry blinked owlishly, then smiled shyly. “That’s a yes, right?”

“My place, tomorrow.”

The cadet’s face split in a grin. “Does that mean you’re cooking?”

Tom snorted. “You wouldn’t want anything I’ve cooked. But I replicate a mean lasagne.”

“You’re on.”

“You remember where I live?”

Harry’s cheeks warmed another shade. “I don’t think I could forget.”

o.O.o

Sabrina West was not a woman prone to effusive expression. She had saved her expression for the stage once upon a time, and now with her mind firmly set on a future as a Starfleet Admiral, she reserved it for her private quarters.

But when Tom Paris arrived, she had to acknowledge she couldn’t help the double-take.

“What happened to you?”

“Why?” 

She narrowed her eyes, trying to decide how to put the impression into words.

“You look...happy. Like you had a big break. Or you just came back from a vacation. Did you find your calling in teaching first years right turns?”

“They were third years learning the Kretzky Maneuver, but no. I still want to be in actual space when I fly.”

He gestured to the bartender and held up two fingers. It held no surprise to her the bartender would know from memory exactly two of what he meant. Tom had always liked his drink a little too much and was probably on a first name basis with all bartenders within walking distance of his place.

“So, what? You just had a really good day?”

“It  _ was  _ really good actually. Cheers to that.” He finished just as the barman arrived, putting down two shots of whiskey in front of them.

“Hells to the no, Paris.”

“Down the hatch!”

She wasn’t entire sure how, but he’d managed to convince her to shot two glasses of perfectly good bourbon when she called it off and sipped on the next one. Tom was happily nodding his head along with the old timey music on the speakers, his cheeks flushed while he periodically appeared to get lost in thought. Tom Paris didn’t get lost in thought, he was a purely “living in the moment” type of person. Something was most definitely up. 

“Okay, you’ve had two whiskeys but you’re smiling like you’ve had eight. What gives?”

The blond man looked like a child who had just woken up on his birthday. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell, but Bree, you  _ can’t tell anyone _ .”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! But I think you mean “who”.”

“Oh, geez.” She swept the rest of the whiskey. “You had sex? That’s it? It must’ve been some lay to get that look on your face.” This time she was the one to gesture to the bartender for more.

“It was.” He looked dreamy for a second and then he leaned forward over the table. “Bree-”

“-No, no details, please. I just ate.”

“Fine, but you’re missing out.” He snorted. “No, I...I found someone, Bree. Someone I...I really like.”

This time her eyebrows climbed all the way to the crown of her head, it felt like. “Like as in...You might sleep with them again?”

“Today was the second time.”

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day. Tom Paris, in like.”

“I’m seeing him tomorrow. We’re going on a date.”

“Don’t just sit there on the details! What’s he like, what does he do, what does he look like?”

“He looks…” Tom blinked and his hands flapped uselessly. “Words don’t really cut it. Perfect. Hot. Dark hair, brown eyes, these shoulders that…” His eyes got farseeing and Sabrina threw a napkin at him. 

“Cut it out. Sounds good anyway. So what does he like?”

“Ah...baseball, black and white holonovels, all winter sports, music. He plays the clarinet. And he loves advanced calculus, like dilithium fracture equations.”

“Never thought you’d go for someone...brainy.”

“Brainy? What are we, twelve? He’s really smart.”

“I believe I am using your own words there but fine. What does he do?”

Tom sank back in his seat, some of the sparks fading from his eyes. “I...I think it’s better if you don’t know.”

“The hell? Is he in the Mafia or something?”

“No, no.”

“Then what?”

Tom mumbled something.

“Sorry?”

“He’s a cadet! A Starfleet cadet.”

Sabrina stole the rest of Tom’s drink and threw it back. “Shut up.”

“He’s twenty!”

“For crying out loud, Tom. Why can’t you ever do anything the simple way?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Bree. But I know I feel something for Harry I’ve never felt for anyone else. Something that’s worth it.” He jutted his chin, determination settling over his features.

“Tom…” She leaned closer. “I won’t tell, you know I won’t. But someone will find this out, and it could cost you, and him, a lot more than you realize. Do yourself a favor, ship back out as soon as you can. Ship far. And if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for him.”

The laughter in Tom’s eyes slowly died. Sobered, he bit his lip, then nodded.

o.O.o

Ten months later

Harry had finally managed to get his parents onto the long distance shuttle back to Portland. He wanted nothing more than to get home, peel off his dress uniform, shower and then call Tom. Share the stories of the day. He wanted to hear his boyfriend’s voice, see his face. And of course, celebrate. He was finally an Ensign. They’d had the ceremony, he’d accepted his diploma, had shaken the Admiral’s hand. As of today there was nothing stopping them from becoming official. 

The uniform ended up on the floor, his shower longer than planned. Shaking back his wet hair, towel around his waist he padded out to find some sweats. Stopped in his tracks when the door just shut behind the person who’d entered.

“Tom!”

The blond man dropped his duffel where he stood and spread his arms.

“Surprise.”

With a laugh Harry launched himself on his boyfriend. Tom had to take a step back to balance but managed to remain standing. With a laugh and a half hearted punch to his shoulder, Harry pulled back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Surely you understand the concept of a surprise?” The familiar teasing tone, the raised blond eyebrow, the tender blue gaze, all brought it home that he was finally, finally, here. Raising himself higher he kissed him in welcome. 

It only took a moment for the tender to skate into heated. Thank god he’d convinced his parents to go home after the long lunch.

Hours later, stretched out in a tangle of naked limbs, Tom turned to Harry, his smile magnetic in how it pulled a response from him. 

“So, Ensign...how about that date?”

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this, I hope you liked it :)


End file.
